


Sucky rambles by a Lonely Man

by HenryHidgens



Category: Poetry - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Personification, Poetry, Romanticism, Synesthesia, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HenryHidgens/pseuds/HenryHidgens
Summary: Just some of my 3 am rambles that i like
Kudos: 2





	1. Touch

If you ever stop and think of touch when you have it its miniscule but without it you see what it is. Touch feels like red and blue moving its way into purple but stops always before black. 

Soft fingers dance across nervous ribs as the hands shake independently. Slowly we have been deprived of hands that feel the way a pina colada dumdum tastes or the light brush of skin that feel like an apple orchard in june. Humans are dependent creatures, our lives are nothing but the deepest parts pf the pacific without other’s. With out touch I am a still pond on a spring morning, without it the inside of my brain feels like the feeling that comes with eating slightly undercooked pasta. 

Light touches swirl around yearning eyes and skin, they touch down as if its own bed after a long day. The feeling of a naturally lit room covered in plants is what touch brings a light blue over a dark green pulling you in. 

Lips play across shoulders with the way light orange feels following them. The sweetness of a touch leaves you with the light pink of light through a curtain. Caress’s dance across skin like wind; ever fleeting but last forever. 

Touch is the feeling of slow drawn out purple, the kind of purple that booms in your chest; the type of feeling that you get and you swear there’s an earthquake. Touch is the opening note to the lion king on broadway or the first clap of thunder in a lightning storm. 

It is a gloomy sky above an empty orange grove.


	2. Lilacs

There are people i can be with that make the world a shade of lilac. Every laugh is a firework of yellow( like from ratatouille). Were in our old world without acknowledging the one outside. That one is no more than swirls of brown and greenwith explosions of viridian. I wish every where could feel lilac or even the color of old denim. Wish it wasnt such a single spark. If i could id take them around as my own miniature color correctors for the world


End file.
